Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ROSE
“You have to stop giving me that look when I’m in the middle of teaching.”
“What look?” I widen my eyes innocently as Ian stalks across the studio toward me. “I was just watching you demonstrate a palm strike, like the rest of the class.”
His hands frame my waist and he lifts me off the stack of mats I’m sitting on, setting me down in front of him. His expression is stern except for a tiny twitch of his lips. “Rose. The rest of the class wasn’t looking at me like that .”
“Like what? I was just admiring…” I trail off intentionally, then add with a mischievous smile, “Your technique.”
Now his eyes are crinkling up at the corners. “My technique?” It’s disbelieving. One hand moves from my waist to the curve of my ass as he tugs me closer. “Not my arms? Or something in my shorts?”
I grab Ian’s very impressive biceps, which I was admittedly staring at during the class. “Well. Maybe I was checking you out. Just a little bit.”
I mean, seriously. Would anyone blame me for eyeballing my very sexy boyfriend while he demonstrates palm strikes and sidekicks? Especially in a white T-shirt and athletic shorts that show off all his muscles? And then when Ian gets that focused look and snaps into action…
It’s really hot. Like I want to leap on him and have sex right now, hot.
“And there it is again.”
“What is?”
“That look.” Ian’s full-on grinning, because he knows darn well that I was staring at his muscles like I do every time I sit in on one of his classes. And he loves to get me to admit it.
“Fine.” I make a little face at him, feeling my cheeks heat. “I was thinking about how sexy you looked. And how I couldn’t wait to get home and take a shower together.”
“Ah.” His smile fades, replaced by something more serious. Intense. “And what would we do in the shower? Just wash? Or something else?”
“Well.” I gaze into his darkening gaze, shifting from a bright blue to a deep sapphire. “Maybe I could wash you. All over. And then—” I release his arm and reach down to stroke the large bulge straining at the mesh fabric of his shorts. “I could wash this…”
Where did this bold Rose come from? Feeling up her boyfriend in the studio of his gym, where anyone could walk in on us?
“Rose.” It’s low and rough. “I think that could be arranged.” Then Ian drags me even closer to him, letting me feel his arousal jutting into my belly. “As long as I get to wash you, too.”
His hand curves over my ass, gently caressing. Leaning down, he captures my mouth with his. First light and teasing, then hungrier. More desperate. His tongue plunging inside, exploring. Tasting.
Each time I kiss Ian, it’s better than the last.
Because each time I kiss him, I love him even more.
My nipples tighten into sensitive peaks as they rub against his chest. My heart races. Air is a forgotten thing in favor of this incredible feeling.
Need builds at my core, and I have to squeeze my legs against the aching emptiness. A little moan sounds at the back of my throat.
“Rose,” he groans as he drags his mouth from mine. His eyes are nearly black, just a thin ring of blue showing. “If we don’t stop, I’m going to lock the door and take you right here.”
“Okay.” I don’t even think about it. All my inhibitions have flown away in this storm of need.
Indecision flickers in his eyes as he glances at the door, then back to me. “We’ll have to be fast. The gym closes in thirty minutes. And I?—”
With a loud beep, the intercom sounds, and Nella’s voice comes over it. “Ian. We have a problem.”
Ian freezes, one hand cupping my ass, the other tangled in my hair. He grits his jaw and grumbles, “ Now ?” After a brief hesitation, he sighs and pulls away.
As he walks over to the intercom panel mounted by the door, he glances over his shoulder and says with a heated gaze, “We’re continuing this. Very soon.”
But maybe not too soon, because Nella doesn’t have great news. Two of the toilets in the men’s locker room overflowed, creating a large and smelly flood in there.
“Mr. Quinton isn’t happy,” Nella reports, sounding slightly frazzled. “He says he needs to get in there to change, or he’s going to be late for poker night. But he can’t go in there with it like that. I’m not sure what to tell him.”
But Ian takes it all in stride. “I’ll take care of it, Nella. Let Mr. Quinton know I’ll be right there.” He pauses, thinking for a second. “Collin should still be here, right?”
“Yes. He’s in the weight room.”
“Good. Can you have him grab the mops and buckets and meet me in the locker room? I’ll come to the front to talk to Mr. Quinton first.”
As Ian steps away from the intercom, humor tinges his tone as he says, “What a week for Chris to go on vacation.” Then he chuckles. “I guess I really will need that shower, after all.”
I come over to his side, giving him a quick hug. “Do you want me to help?”
“Oh, no, Rose. Collin and I can handle it. I don’t want you messing around with a mop, and around all that dirty water…”
I’m tempted to tell Ian that I’m perfectly capable of using a mop with one hand, and that I’ve dealt with my own leaky toilets in the past. But after everything that happened with Diem last week, he’s been more protective than ever. And since I know he’s still struggling with it, I don’t press the point. “Okay. I’ll wait in your office, then? Drake texted me earlier, so I can get back to him.”
“That’s a good idea.” He frames my face with his hands and gives me a quick, hard kiss. “I’ll get this cleaned up, and then we can go home. Take a shower together. Watch that movie you’ve been talking about. Order some pizza.”
I grin at him. “That sounds perfect.”
Everything about being with Ian is perfect, really. Living with him. Coming to work with him. Going to bed snuggled into his arms, and waking up beside him.
Comforting each other after the nightmares we’ve both had since Diem lost it and went after me.
Doing all the little things to make each other happy—Ian making my coffee just the way I like it, and me loading the dishwasher because I know he doesn’t like to.
I know we’re still in the honeymoon stage of living together, and it won’t always be this easy. But I love Ian, so I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.
As I head to Ian’s office, I’m struck by how quiet it is. During the day, the gym is a buzz of activity, but now that it’s nearly closing, it’s almost peaceful. A few distant clanks come from the front of the building, where the last dedicated members are finishing their reps on the weight machines. The low rise and fall of voices travels down the hallway, getting fainter as it heads away from me.
I never thought I’d feel at home in a gym—enjoying the flurry of activity, the members who’ve gotten to know me, the slight tang of disinfectant and musky sweat—but that was before I met Ian. Before I came to appreciate what he’s created here.
Once I get into Ian’s office, I sink down into the chair at his desk. It’s fairly comfortable, but it has a weird lump in the lumbar area, some worn spots around the edges and creaks whenever it leans back.
Maybe I should buy him a new one. His birthday is coming up in two months. But is that a bad gift? Should I get him something more meaningful?
But having a good chair is important. It helps with posture and back pain and all that stuff. And some days, Ian spends several hours at his desk going over course plans and budgets and certifications. So it would be a practical gift.
And then maybe I could get him something else that has a special meaning? A framed photo of us? Or if my hand miraculously is better by then, a painting?
Yes . I’m smiling to myself, thinking about the chair, with a red bow tied around it, a picture in that empty spot on the living room wall. Ian will like that; I’m sure of it.
I’m just about to text Drake—I can ask him what he thinks—when there’s a shuffle of footsteps in the doorway.
That was quick. I guess it wasn’t as big of a mess as Nella made it sound.
Setting my phone down, I glance up, already smiling. “Are you done already?—”
But it’s not Ian.
It’s not someone I recognize. Dressed for working out, in a T-shirt and mesh shorts, he has longish brown hair, a scruffy beard and mustache, and thick horn-rimmed glasses.
A new member looking for Ian? My smile fades a little, but I keep it glued on as I ask, “Can I help you? Ian’s busy right now. Do you have a question for him?”
He stares at me silently for a second. Then he smiles, and something in it is eerily familiar. “Don’t you recognize me?”
What?
Unease sweeps over me, heavy and chilling. Something is wrong.
“I’m not…” My heart is fluttering with a sudden certainty that something is very wrong with this man.
My hand is nearly to my phone when his voice changes from pleasant to threatening. “Don’t touch that.”
And then.
Oh my God.
He has a gun .
A gun from out of nowhere, pointed at me.
“Don’t touch the phone, Rose. I’d rather not shoot you.” His eyes narrow at me. “But I will.”
What? Why?
Then he walks closer to me, smiling again, and the missing piece clicks.
My heart launches itself into my throat.
It can’t be.
But it is.
“Reed?”
His smile turns sly as he continues approaching me, gun still pointed at my chest. “Yes. I didn’t like having to grow all this”— he gestures at his face with his free hand—“but I didn’t want to give myself away too quickly. Waiting for the right time and all.”
“What? Why?” My brain is misfiring. Reed? From NYU? Here? With a gun ?
“Come on.” His hand wraps around my upper arm, and he yanks me roughly from the chair. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
“Reed.” I can barely hear myself over the whooshing sound of my pulse. “What are you doing?”
“We’re leaving.” The smile shifts to something more dangerous. “And if you try anything, Rose, I’ll have to kill anyone who interferes. Starting with that boyfriend of yours.”
Oh, God. The image slams into me with breath stealing force. Ian walking into the office, me gagged and unable to warn him. Reed shooting him. Killing him.
Reed jabs the gun into my ribs and hisses, “You’re coming with me. Now. And remember, if you try anything…”
Why is he doing this?
Things start to go fuzzy, and I realize belatedly that I’ve forgotten to breathe.
I want to scream for help. Run. Grab the phone. Fight back.
But the gun .
I can’t just leave. There has to be something.
The earrings. The ones Blade and Arrow gave me. The ones I left on at Ian’s request, after he said, “Just keep wearing them, please? I know Diem’s in jail, but it’ll make me feel better.”
But Reed has my good arm trapped in his punishing grip. And of course, with the cast, pressing the earring won’t be as easy. Crap.
Not to mention, I can’t let Reed see what I’m doing.
And it’s hard to focus on anything besides this paralyzing fear. Terror of being shot. Of Ian being shot. Or any of the other employees still here.
Oh, please. Let this work.
As he drags me out of the office and down the hall toward the rear exit, I keep trying to trigger the earring. Lungs bursting, heart exploding, jabbing at my ear whenever Reed doesn’t seem to be looking. Praying.
Just as we’re about to push through the back door, I press the earring again, and this time I feel something move. Something shifts.
Oh, please.
“Come on,” snaps Reed. The metal door slams shut behind us, and he picks up speed. “ Hurry .”
God. Where is he taking me? Into the thick line of trees beyond the back parking lot? To a car? Or is he going to kill me right here?
It’s darker than normal back here—usually there's a small lamppost that comes on automatically once the sun starts to go down—and my scattered brain registers that it’s out. A burned-out bulb? Or did Reed do it?
As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I scan the parking lot, searching for someone, something, to help me. But all I see are a few scattered cars—Nella’s hatchback, Collin’s truck, Ian’s SUV, and?—
Oh, no.
A van. At the edge of the lot. Not an employee’s. Reed’s?
Instinctively, I pull back against Reed’s punishing grip and dig in my heels. My terrified brain screams silently, no no no no I’m not getting in there. No .
The gun pushes into my side, hard enough to bruise. He flashes me an angry glare. “Rose, move it . I don’t have all day for this.”
“Why? I don’t understand?—”
“ Be quiet ,” he hisses. “Or I’ll have to shut you up.”
The terrified, panicked part of me wants to follow his command. But there’s still a desperate hope that I can convince him to stop this. More quietly, I say, “Reed, please . I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Please let me go. You’re scaring me.”
Reed snaps, “I wouldn’t have to if you’d done what you were supposed to in the beginning. If you weren’t so damn stubborn.”
“What?”
Reed slows slightly as he glances over at me. His expression is pinched and angry. “You were supposed to come to me after you broke up with James. I knew you’d end things with him, eventually. He was too superficial for you, and I was going to step in. Be the man you needed. The man who understood you.”
What? Date Reed?
He never asked me out. Never showed an interest in being more than two colleagues who occasionally had coffee after class and talked about art. I never imagined…
“Be with you?” My heart beats impossibly faster. “You never. What? I?—”
“Yes, be with me, Rose.” He yanks me again, the sudden jerking motion making me stumble. “I’ve been trying to show you the error of your ways. That you made the wrong decision. Not coming to me after James. Moving to Sleepy Hollow. Not coming back to the city after your hand was broken.”
In the light of the crescent moon, Reed’s eyes flash an icy silver. “You were supposed to come back to me after that. Let me take care of you. I had it all planned. You’d teach at NYU—I got those damn classes arranged for you, let me tell you what a hassle that was—and I’d help you. You’d finally admit your feelings for me.”
What do I say to him? Do I play along? Pretend I care for him? Can I delay Reed long enough for help to come?
Blade and Arrow must be on their way by now. Ian must know.
“I did everything ,” Reed continues, his voice a low rasp. “Planned it all. Your hand. And when that didn’t work, the guy at your apartment. You were supposed to leave. Come back to the city where you belong.”
It takes a moment to register. And then, “My hand ?”
He couldn’t. No. He wouldn’t.
“I didn’t want to,” he replies easily. “I do love your art. But it just made sense. With your hand broken, you couldn’t work. Couldn’t support yourself. You’d need to come back. And I’d take care of you. Just the way it’s supposed to be.”
NO.
“But then you went to that local . A gym owner.” He spits it out, scowling. “He has no idea what you need. Not like I do.”
All this time. Not random. Not a jealous competitor. Not an angry ex-boyfriend. It was Reed .
Fury ignites inside of me; chasing away the paralyzing fear.
I never thought. Never considered.
How could he?
We’re nearly to his van, which would have thrown me into a panic only seconds ago. But now all I feel is rage.
“So you understand everything I’ve done for you.” He says it so reasonably, like of course it makes sense. Reed picks up his pace, hurrying us the last dozen feet to the van. “Now, stop trying to slow me down. It’s better this way. If someone else comes out and tries to interfere, I’ll have to kill them.”
He’s insane.
And I’m not getting into his van without a fight.
What have the weeks of training with Ian been for, if not this?
Fragmented thoughts puzzle together; details slotting into place.
Reed doesn’t want to kill me.
The gun isn’t pressed into my side anymore; instead pointing at the ground.
I have skills he doesn’t know about. Hammer strike. Throat punch. Knee strike.
I’m not the Rose he thinks I am. That Rose wouldn’t dream of fighting back.
But this one will.
It might not work.
But it might.
I just need an opening.
So I stumble intentionally, yelping in pain.
Reed bites out a low curse as he yanks me back up.
I whimper, “My ankle. I hurt it.” Fear makes my voice wobble. “I can’t?—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake , Rose.” He turns to me, his irritation clear. “Are you trying to make this difficult?”
Well, yes.
I wish I could go for the eye strike, but without my left hand free, I have to settle for something simpler.
Channeling all my rage, I drive my knee up and into his groin. There’s a satisfying squish, and Reed lets out a pained groan, collapsing forward.
The grip on my arm loosens.
Yes . If I can just get loose. Get to the woods. Circle around to the front of the gym.
“Oh, fuck!”
I yank away from him, his fingers barely grazing my arm. Almost?—
Then he lunges at me.
Grabs my arm and pulls so hard I hear my shoulder pop.
A fist flies toward me and collides with my cheek.
An explosion of white flashes fills my vision.
Everything spins. Goes fuzzy.
The pain —oh, it hurts, I messed it up, it hurts so much?—
“Why the fuck did you do that, Rose?” Reed’s voice comes from a distance. Angry. Disappointed. “I don’t like what this place has done to you.”
His arm comes around my waist, and I can’t help sagging against him. I hate it, but my body doesn’t feel like my own. Everything is scattered and unfocused.
His breath hot on my cheek, Reed leans in and says, “Don’t worry. We’ll get all these dangerous ideas out of your head, Rose. I have the perfect place to do it.”
No. Please. I can’t go with him.
I’m supposed to be here. With Ian.
He’ll find me. He has to.
Please, come. Help me.